


Home-making

by Nele



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Qun-Loyal Iron Bull, Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 13:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17919866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nele/pseuds/Nele
Summary: The Inquisitor doesn't trust Bull, doesn't want to go anywhere near the Qunari, doesn't even want to contemplate an alliance. That's okay. Par Vollen will be disappointed, but it probably won't be Bull's problem.(Or, what if Demands of the Qun doesn't happen?)





	Home-making

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the wonderfull Adoribull zine _Good for each other_. A big, big thank you to Stupidlullabies for making it happen, and to all the contributors! Sales of the physical zine have ended, but there'll be another round of digital sales in March. Keep an eye on Tumblr for that. Also many thanks to queeniegalore for beta help!
> 
> [Trespasser spoilers] If you ignore Bull's loyalty mission in the game, he turns against the Inquisition in Trespasser even though the Chargers are still alive, because he's never had a chance to start thinking outside of the Qun. This hurts my heart and I need him to get a way out.

Hissrad goes where he’s told, and the Bull follows. It’s not a bad life.

Trevelyan doesn’t trust him, doesn’t listen to him, doesn’t want him near her. It’s a disappointment, but the Bull doesn’t sugar-coat it in his reports. As an agent, he’s been on his last legs for a long time. They’ll send others.

Honestly, he’s kind of relieved to be on the outside. He doesn’t miss the big shit. Doesn’t really want to be responsible for advising the Inquisitor on whether to spend resources saving this gaggle of starving kids or the other. Somehow, it’s always fucking dead kids in the end.

This way he gets to stick with his Chargers, doing every odd Inquisition job that needs swords. They sweep up bandits, rogue Templars, apostates, and apostate bandits on the really special days.

They drink the tavern dry in the evenings, and Krem mentions that it’s nice to have a place to come back to for once. The Bull’s not familiar with that sentiment, but it’s pretty great to see Kremsicle happy.

  


* * *

  


Their new Vint isn’t settling in well either. Trevelyan’s not fond of strange folk to begin with, and from the sound of it, the time magic incident at Redcliffe made her so pissing mad that Pavus is lucky he’s not down in the dungeon with the crazy Magister.

The Bull almost feels for the guy. He’s trying, all smiles and sparkles whenever Trevelyan’s in sight, but he’s clearly not used to his pretty-boy wiles not working.

And the Bull’s always been a sucker for a pretty face, especially when it’s the first thing he sees in the morning. Pavus is all alone at a tavern table, nothing but a tankard and a paper full of scribbles in front of him.

The Bull makes sure to let the floorboards creak as he approaches.

“Hey. Bit early for drink.”

“Oh. Hello.” Pavus looks startled to be addressed. And tired. “The beer? Swill, but I prefer to imbibe things that come out of a communal cask that’s right in front of my eyes.”

The Bull shrugs. Fair. “What’re you up to?”

“Drafting arguments to persuade our dear and paranoid Inquisitor not to execute Gereon Alexius outright tomorrow.”

The Bull frowns. “That Venatori? Doesn’t sound like he’s worth you putting your head in the boss’ mouth for him.”

“I’ll grant that I have a history of bestowing my generosity upon the undeserving.” Pavus sighs. Takes a rather big gulp of his beer. “But Alexius and his family made me welcome at a time when... Suffice to say, I owe it to him, and most certainly to Felix, to do more than sit around waiting for his head to roll.” 

Family, huh. “You going back home after this is over?”

Pavus smiles, a fake but beautiful thing. “Ah, but the house is only walls now. You?”

The Bull shrugs.

“It’s not up to me.”

Pavus hums a bit. Takes in the enormous saddle blanket slung over the Bull’s shoulder. “And where are you headed out to on this tragically brisk morning?”

“We’re gonna check out what’s left of Haven. Bring back anything useful, bury the dead.”

Pavus’ face falls. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

The Bull shrugs. “It’s a job.”

“Still. I’m sorry it falls to you.” He actually sounds like he means that.

“Hey, if you wanna buy me a beer when we get back, I’m not saying no.”

Another smile, far more genuine. On the edge of promising, you could say. Now there’s a nice thought to keep the Bull’s head toasty when he’s out in the snow.

  


* * *

  


Haven is shit. A lot of people frozen with their eyes wide open. And, sure as fuck, dead kids.

At least these ones didn’t get poisoned. Probably better to suffocate under an avalanche than to have your guts disintegrate. Or get burned in your bed.

The Bull shakes his head. Starts unsaddling his horse and turns his attention back to the next stall over, where Dennet’s rattling off a list of Skyhold happenings that they missed. 

“…and the Inquisitor made the magister from Redcliffe tranquil. Did it herself, in front of everyone.”

Dalish’ head snaps up from where she’s bent over her pack.

“The Inquisitor made someone tranquil?"

Dennet shrugs. Dalish stares, like she wants to cringe but knows better.

She’s still real quiet by the time they’ve trouped into the tavern, and the Bull decides that maybe she’d like another mage to talk to about her crap. It’s a good excuse to go check out the library.

Pavus is shoving books onto empty shelves like he’s trying to beat them to death.

“Hey,” the Bull said. “You okay there?”

“I’m cataloguing useless literature while dodging the dead shell of my former mentor as he glides about this space. Before I found the heart to write Felix with the news, I got a letter from Tevinter announcing his painful death. I told Alexius, and he said, _How unfortunate. Felix was a good man. Is there anything I may do to ease your grief?_ " 

Pavus takes a deep breath. “I’m wonderful! Thank you for asking, the Iron Bull!” 

He stops. Closes his eyes a moment, then looks up with that wan I’m-trying smile.

“My apologies. How was your trip? Not too horrific, I hope.”

Maybe Dalish isn’t the only one who’d like someone to talk to.

“Haven was shitty. Wanna buy me that beer?”

Pavus blinks, like he’s surprised the Bull remembers.

He ends up next to Dalish without the Bull even having to nudge the two of them together. They chat at the end of the table for what must be close to an hour, heads bent together over their tankards, and both look a little less spooked by the end.

“Hey,” he says as Pavus rises from his chair, close to midnight. Nods at where Dalish is snoring on her folded arms. “Thanks.”

Pavus smiles. Barely, but it’s there, and real. “The pleasure was all mine. Truly.”

Fuck, he looks sweet when he’s sad. The Bull feels bad for him.

“Wanna come up for a nightcap?”

It gets him an actual chuckle. “Why, the Iron Bull, that’s much more subtle than your usual. Thank you, but I try not to make innocent bed partners deal with my feelings. One isn’t nineteen anymore.”

Fuck. The Bull kind of wishes there was something he could do. Take the guy out of…

Now _there’s_ an idea.

“Hey, Dorian. We did a good job with Haven, so they’re sending us out in a couple days to check what’s going on at Therinfal Redoubt.”

Dorian goes all still, like he needs a second to remember what that is again. The Bull winks at him.

“Wanna come? I’ll argue that we need a mage for this. A real one.”

Now he looks stunned instead of sad. Damn, life’s good in the South. You meet the cutest Vints.

  


* * *

  


For a jaunt through a corpse-filled castle lorded over by a freakish nightmare of a demon, the Therinfal Redoubt mission is _fun._

Dorian brings three changes of clothes and four bottles of fancy wine. The Chargers aren’t very impressed with him, until it turns out he brought the alcohol to share.

“Smart,” the Bull tells him at the campfire. Skinner is sing-songing into Dalish’ boobs about killing all the shems, Vints first, but not today, not today.

Dorian grins. It makes the Bull wish he’d made room in his tent for the guy instead of making him bunk with Stitches and Grim.

By the time they’re marching away from the smoldering ruins of the keep, Dorian’s belting out the company song along with everyone else while also loudly criticizing its many and varied technical shortcomings. The Bull’s pleased as an imekari with three apples. Everything went great. Excellent teamwork all around, lots of dead demons, and Rocky got to blow up a whole fucking castle.

Dorian’s a pretty spectacular fighter, and real generous with barriers that might as well be full-plate chevalier armor. The Bull’s Chargers are plenty fierce without magic sparkles on them, but it’s nice to see only three people with bandages instead of twenty.

He says that out loud, and Dorian’s face lights up like the sun. Yeah, this was a good idea.

Gets better too. They find an inn with free rooms at the foot of the Frostbacks, and Dorian shows up at the Bull’s door. Says, _I’ve come to give you something to sing about._

He does, just gets on and rides the Bull until they actually break the bed. 

When Dorian comes for the last time, laughing in a pile of blankets while the Bull fucks him long and slow like he deserves, he grips the Bull around the neck _hard_.

“Thank you,” he gasps, and licks a trembling, delicate path along the shell of the Bull’s ear.

Fuck. The Bull is definitely going to jerk off to that later. Maybe for the rest of his life. Great respect.

  


* * *

  


Life goes on. Keeps getting better. Every day has a little more hot Vint in it.

Dorian quickly becomes a fixture at training, and the Bull is pretty sure it’s because he enjoys the company, not just because Trevelyan won’t let any mages train by themselves. It’s cute. He’s started falling asleep in the Bull’s bed and pretending to be dead in the morning, but five minutes after the Bull leaves, he comes shuffling out yawning and moaning to pick up where he left off with Dalish’ barrier lessons.

The guy wants to help so bad, and they’ve got him pushing papers in a tower. Fucking waste. Trevelyan’s a fool.

Not fool enough to consider an alliance with the Qun, though. She’s standing there in the middle of the training ring, Krem milling around awkwardly behind her, and eyeballs the Bull like he’s just proposed that she ask Corypheus over for tea and afternoon blood rituals.

“Is this a trap?”

The Bull shrugs. “Nah, Boss. They’re not interested in hurting the Inquisition. Rifts are everybody’s problem.”

Trevelyan’s face darkens, and then the Bull feels it. A cool prickle, like mint paste being poured over his head. Barrier. Subtle enough that it’s as good as invisible.

“Get out of my sight, and take your Qun with you.” She stomps away.

The Bull swallows a sigh. Surely they knew that having him propose this wasn’t going to work.

Ah well. Better this way. Better for nothing to change.

“Did I hear that right? The Qun proposes an _alliance_ , and you actually tell Trevelyan? Do you have a death wish, Bull?”

The Bull’s not really in the mood for critique. “It’s my job.”

Dorian’s frown looks thunderous all of a sudden. Before the Bull can parse that, though, he’s already sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Well. The Storm Coast is ghastly, we should all rejoice at this wonderful opportunity to avoid it.” He glances up. “Will the Ben-Hassrath be angry with you?”

 _Are you safe_ , is what he’s asking, and it hits the Bull a little weird. 

“Nah. Don’t worry. Thanks, Dorian.”

Life goes on.

  


* * *

  


Dalish stumbles into him from behind, grabs on to one horn, and uses it to lower her piss-ass drunk self onto the chair next to the Bull.

“Pop the _question_ , Chief!”

Dorian leans forward to stare at her. He’s got beer foam in his moustache. “What?”

“ _The_ question,” Dalish clarifies.

“For fuck’s sake.” The Bull shoves her away as far as she’ll go without falling off the chair, then turns back to the prettier sight on his other side. 

“Hey, Dorian. How’d you feel about joining the Chargers? All official.”

Dorian’s hand freezes halfway up to his moustache.

“Is that... a serious offer?”

“Yep. Fair share of any earnings, food and a tent guaranteed, all that crap. Krem’ll copy out the standard contract for you.” The Bull takes a gulp from his tankard. He’s not nervous. Just thirsty. 

Dorian stares.

The Bull swallows. “Hey, you’re already hanging out with us nine days out of ten. Things’ll be like now, except you’ll be under my authority, not the Inquisitor’s.”

Dorian doesn’t even make a face at the wording. There’s utter silence around the Chargers’ table, and it’s spreading to the rest of the tavern.

Then he smiles. He’s still got foam on his face.

“Of course I’d have to read your contract first, but that sounds agreeable.”

The Bull’s stomach does a funny thing. “Yes?”

“You’d all be dead within three days without me. So.”

There’s whooping all around. Dalish throws her hands in the air, splashing beer against the wall behind them.

“He said yes!”

“I’m going to cry,” Krem says. Grabs the Bull’s hand, pumps it like he’s trying to rip it off. “Congratulations, Chief! We didn’t know you had it in you.”

For fuck’s _sake_.

  


* * *

  


Trevelyan defeats Corypheus, and life goes on. There’s still bandits of every possible flavor, lots of good work, lots of days on the road. They even get to tackle a couple dragons. _Dragons_.

One of those finally torches Dorian’s worn old buckled number, but Krem sews him a whole new Tevinter outfit with fur lining and a Ferelden-style butt flap. Marriage gift, he says. Ultimate convenience at all times. Dorian’s face is the actual best thing the Bull’s seen in his life.

The Bull adds an extension onto his tent to make room for Dorian’s piles of clothes and books. Dorian decorates it with magic lanterns and fluttery Tevinter shawls that his lady Magister friend sends him. The Bull is forever banging his horns on shit, but it’s all so sparkly.

Dorian still gets sad sometimes.

“Mae is trying to do so much,” he whispers one night in their tent, staring at the letter in his lap. “I should go back to help.”

“You want to go?”

The Bull says the words, but he’s not sure where they’re coming from. It’s not what he wanted to say. 

Dorian stares at him. The light of the enchanted lanterns makes patterns on his face, pretty curls of purple and pink.

“Amatus. How could I want to leave?” The paper crinkles in his fingers. “I just wish I could contribute.”

His heart is a good, good man. It’s nice, having someone like that close. Comforting. Like he’s in the right hands.

“Hey, Dorian.” He waits until Dorian looks up again. “What if you did for your friend what I do for the Qun? Send intel regularly. Could help her get support outside Tevinter.”

Dorian blinks. “That would… actually be useful. That’s an excellent idea.”

The Bull grins. “You wanna see how I write my reports? There’s tricks to it.”

Dorian puts a hand to his chest. “Are you suggesting that I copy your homework, the Iron Bull?”

“Sure. Whatever makes you happy.”

Dorian laughs and reaches for him.

It hits the Bull that this is probably it. The rest of his days, until some dragon finally eats him. Wake up to the sound of those horrid Orlesian warbly birds. Suck Dorian off. Have breakfast. Training, lunch, bandits, and back home before supper. Write a useless report that they won’t even bother to open back in Par Vollen. Have Dorian hold him like this, like he thinks he made this tent and this life and the Bull out of nothing.

  


* * *

  


The Bull wasn’t at the Winter Palace the last time the Inquisition thundered through, but Sera wasn’t kidding about the fluffiness of the beds. His tent is great, but so’s fucking Dorian into a mattress thick enough to swallow them both up.

Dorian still secretly likes morning training, but he also had to schmooze with fancy Exalted Council fops most of yesterday, so he might actually like a lie in this time. The Bull kisses his sweaty hair and leaves him to snore.

He steps out into the corridor, and there’s a servant standing there. Elf. She holds a note out to him.

“The corridor to the eluvian will be clear in two minutes. Good luck, Hissrad.”

  


* * *

  


By his last year on Seheron, he’d been getting two hours of sleep a night at most. Not surprising, and he stayed functional, except every now and then his head would kind of shut off. He’d be standing in the middle of a village or a jungle clearing or whatnot and try to have a thought, any thought, and nothing would come.

It hasn’t happened since he came south, but here he is, staring at the swirling magic mirror with his head full of white.

He tries to think it. Why he has to step forward, why he has to go, step through that portal and probably kill the Inquisitor and never come back.

His axe weighs on his shoulder like there’s three people hanging off the end of it. It drags him down, down, down, until he’s sitting on the floor, staring at the colors and trying to figure out if he’s really here or back in his tent, with Dorian’s magic lights rotating slowly overhead.

He has no idea how much time has passed when he hears footsteps. A pair of them, walking just sedately enough so as to not look like they’re hurrying.

He has to move forward _now_. He has to make a decision _now_.

Nothing.

A hand descends on the unprotected back of his neck before Dorian comes into view, falling to his knees without a moment’s hesitation. Eyes unlined, hair barely above tousled, a nice coat thrown over what sure looks like no underclothes at all.

Krem must’ve dragged him out of bed when the Bull didn’t show up for training. Poor kadan. He hates not looking his best. He’s got to be uncomfortable.

Dorian’s fingers come to rest on Hissrad’s cheeks. The touch of magic follows at once, insistent but gentle.

“Amatus?"

Krem appears next to him, handsome face all scrunched up.

“What’s wrong with him? Is it magic?”

Dorian shakes his head. The touch on the Bull’s face changes, softens, from probing to caressing.

“Bull. Darling. Can you tell us what you're doing here?”

The Bull opens his mouth. He can still respond to things, a bit, even if making thoughts isn’t going right.

“They called me to fight.”

Dorian’s brows knit together. The fingers on the Bull’s forehead shift, stroking as if to soothe a feverish child, and his other hand reaches out to take the Bull’s.

“Trevelyan didn’t call you. She took Vivienne and Sera and Cassandra with her, don’t you remember?”

“Not the boss.”

Krem just makes a questioning sound, but Dorian’s grip changes, tightens from a cradle into a steel trap.

He’s so fucking smart.

“The Qunari,” Dorian breathes. He stays still, not the slightest tremble in his fingers, not a twitch on his face. No way to tell where or how he’ll strike the moment Hissrad makes a wrong move.

“Why do they want you?”

The Bull drags his mind back to the note. He ate it.

“I know how the Inquisitor fights.”

Dorian scoffs, a shockingly loud burst of sound.

“What, they don’t have enough soldiers in there? _You_ have to go fall on Trevelyan’s sword?”

“It’s not up to me,” the Bull hears himself say.

“Ugh! If you think for _one moment_ that I’ll stand for such an appalling waste of…”

Dorian draws a harsh breath. Closes his eyes. 

“Bull,” he says. Another breath, and another, now so very soft. “Amatus. Do you _want_ to go?”

_Oh._

Oh, no. He doesn’t want to leave, it was so good, it was, he thought…

“I thought I’d get to stay this time,” he blurts.

Dorian blinks.

It’s too late to change his mind. When the Inquisitor hears he was out here all armed and ready to rumble, she’ll have his head. Krem and Dorian might have to watch. They might have to run.

“I’m sorry, kadan,” the Bull says. “I broke it.”

He can _feel_ Dorian’s magic pulse through the room. Furious, barely contained, but he’s never once used magic on the Bull by accident. The Bull doesn’t fear him.

Dorian pulls, with enough supernatural strength in his fingers to haul the Bull to his feet. 

“Now _that_ is not up to you. Follow me.”

Yeah. That works for now.


End file.
